Magic Is
by pingipenguin
Summary: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What, then, is magic?


_**Standard Disclaimer: **__I don't own Merlin. The series five finale is proof enough of that._

**o~O~o**

Magic is life. It is all around. It pumps in the blood of every living being, whether they be mighty tree or tiny ant, warbling skylark or arrogant man. It is as old as time itself and then some; it shifts of its own accord and _breathes_, as loud as any winded fighter, and can ricochet from contentment to wrath in the space of a second. It is the shifting earth as surely as it is the undulating ocean, the depthless sky as decidedly as it is the heat of the sun and the caressing werelight of the moon. It is beautiful, it is terrible, and it is far from perfect.

But it is magic. And it has a wondrous mind of its own.

**o~O~o**

Magic is soft. It tickles and sighs, it floats and sways, it leaps and laughs, and it glows at whatever pitch one deems it should. Bright and hot, should you be in need of comfort or support (or to maintain a spark of anger longer than a few seconds); dim and cool should you require a quiet moment of reflection and peace. But it's always there. Always throbbing, always shivering, always dancing to the rhythm of a hymn your heart knows but cannot quite remember the lyrics to.

But your magic is always there to help you try.

**o~O~o**

Magic is mystery. It trembles and hides, it confuses and deceives, it teases and bewilders with the whisper of promise. It tingles the hard-to-reach depths of rivers and the emerald canopies, it manifests in places where dark and light rule at opposite poles; it strikes without warning and retreats likewise to wherever it came from, whether it be heart of friend or foe, and cares not who it knocks irrevocably down. It is elusive as a spiderweb in a dark clearing. It is distant as the moon, and yet close enough that you can feel its heat like the sun.

Will its secrets ever be unravelled? Only time will tell.

**o~O~o**

Magic is power. It infects every fibre of your being with its strength; saturates you with conviction until you can take no more, and then allows you to do with that as you see fit. With this, one could make rain fall from unclouded heavens; whether to water a farmer's dying crops or to flood a struggling village is in the hands of the one who wields the power, the unquestionable _power_.

But what is to stop them from going against the needs of their fellow man? Can one become gluttonous with the power magic so freely provides?

**o~O~o**

Magic is responsibility. It is the weight of something simultaneously delicate and achingly powerful, something that one does not ask for but rather is granted as part of some pre-ordained bargain. It is a burden unsought, something that quivers with the whispers of the mundane; all their pain, their suffering, their anguish becomes intermingled with _yours_ because you want more than anything to alleviate it all, to make it go away. But one cannot do that, because that was not be responsible.

And magic _is_ responsibility.

**o~O~o**

Magic is confusing. It rotates in an endless cycle of answering questions that give rise to new ones; if magic is power, then why can one not alter their destiny? If one has the ability to heal the sick and tend to the poor, why is one restricted from doing so? Does magic select who it will inhabit and, if so, why? What separates the worthy from the unworthy, the able from the weak of will? What of those who choose to abuse the power; why were they granted the gift if they were destined to break it? Is it the magic, or the person, that goes sour?

Is magic a curse or a blessing? When push comes to shove, is it truly as wondrous as they say it is? Will anyone ever know?

**o~O~o**

Magic is fear. It steals into your heart to counter the warm glow of its very presence, feeding your mind with images and sensations of icy dread. Burning pyres, awash with light and smoke, dance devilishly through your dreams, bringing out a cold sweat to chase away the phantom heat and to remind you that you are not safe. That you have no place to go should your secret be revealed. That there is nothing, nothing at all, to stop you from turning to evil, to darkness, and to stepping irrevocably from the soft embrace of the light.

It is hot and cold all at once, and it just won't let you be.

**o~O~o**

Magic is evil. It manifests and broods, it shrinks and plots, it scorns and hates. It _corrupts_. It is stubborn as a mule; always there, sewn into the fabric of the world, and always snapping with malicious intent. It curses and _hurts_; once afflicted, one might as well die. There is no known remedy for the poisoning of the heart.

There is no known way to escape its clutches once it has you in its grasp.

**o~O~o**

_**A/N:**_

_Weew. I don't even know what this is, or where it came from. It started off as Arthur, Morgana and Merlin comparing their views on magic, but somehow it morphed into this. I tried to make it flow as easily as I could, and I think I did an okay job, but there are a few things here I'm not entirely happy with. I didn't quite know how to fix them, so any constructive criticism on the matter would be appreciated (and emphasis on the CONSTRUCTIVE there). I'm in this to learn, and to become a better writer. Your help in that would make my task a whole lot easier._

_Hope you enjoyed this little one-shot. Reviews, as always, are welcome as central heating on a cold winter's day. Not that that's problem for us Australians right now. For us, reviews are as welcome as icy-poles in the middle of a heat-wave. Ultimately, whether this is told from the perspective of one character or the conjoined views of many is entirely up to you. Creative license, y'all. _


End file.
